


The spider, The bunny, and speakeasy

by musingsofhiraeth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brownie points if you get the references, Carlie is a singer, F/M, I don't know you guys tell me, James is a mafia boss, Kidnapping, Mafia AU, Might turn into an actual story but god help me if I know where it's going, Mildly Dubious Consent, My First AO3 Post, One Shot, Or Is It?, The Mafia AU of my dreams, They're both thirsty for each other, This is the fic that secures my place in hell, Very very steamy scenes, forgive me Father for I have sinned, no beta we die like men, roaring 20's au, this is it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musingsofhiraeth/pseuds/musingsofhiraeth
Summary: You either had to be very bold, or very stupid to cross James Moriarty. Charlotte Holmes isn't quite sure which category she had her brothers fall into, but she suspects it's the latter.A Mafia 1920's AU which Jim Moriarty is a famed mafia boss, and Charlotte Holmes inflitrates his network as a singer for his speakeasies. Things take a turn for the worse when comes face to face with the man himself, and the all the work she has been doing for the past six months comes undone with a single look.
Relationships: Irene Adler/Original Female Character(s), James Moriarty/Original Female Character(s), Jim Moriarty/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	The spider, The bunny, and speakeasy

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT, BEFORE YOU READ: This is based off an OC I created all the way back in 2015, she's evolved a lot since then, but the gist of her is she's the younger sister to the Holmes. Just as smart as Sherlock, she is far more human and compassionate than he is, altought with just as much spunk and just as short a temper, if not more. I've always shipped her with Moriarty, and genuinely have no idea what possessed me to write this monstrosity of a one shot, but here you go. 
> 
> Fair warning, Moriarty is... Well, he's Moriarty, but I dialed the Mr. Sex up to 100%. There's some scenes where he touches her without her explicit consent, but she's far from complaining.
> 
> This is my first post here, so I'm more than a little nervous, but ah well! 
> 
> Don't forget to comment your thoughts and maaaaaybe even give kudos? Also, keep your eyes open for a couple of references to other fandoms you might find! I'll have a couple of links in the notes below.
> 
> Remember to drink water and be kind to yourself!  
> —With love, Hiraeth

The password for the speakeasy had been spiderweb.

How ironic, Carlie thought as she stepped through the backdoor reserved for performances and was searched by a bouncer who was a little  _ too  _ eager to put his hands on her, shying away only when she shot him a withering glare. The man had chosen the exact same word the Holmes siblings used to describe his network. Perhaps he knows, a little voice on the back of her mind said, and Carlie nearly rolled her eyes at it, but she had to remain in character. To everyone else in there, she was Roxie Hart, a sassy and upcoming singer who had performed in some of his smaller speakeasies and promised a pretty little act for those who dared to tangle themselves deep in Jim Moriarty’s mob. Reckless fools, all of them, and perhaps she was too, a little. It was a simple mission: Get in, perform, memorize the layout, gather any information you can, and get out. The worst thing that could happen was that they’d like her enough to hire her again, but she could always use to way the bouncer unashamedly tried to cop a feel as an excuse that she’d been uncomfortable. Nothing could go wrong.

Except everything would.

Blissfully unaware of the events that would follow, Carlie was showed to a dressing room, the door closing behind her as she took it in. It was the most luxurious she’d been in, as was fit for the speakeasy she was performing at. She’s been doing so in a string of smaller ones, all belonging to James Moriarty, the biggest mafia boss out there. She’d never been so unfortunate as to meet the man, unlike her brothers, and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it either. Roxie Hart had an american accent, but Carlie was British through her through, dropping the act when she was not undercover. And then there was the fact that she was the spitting image of Sherlock, her brother, his arch-enemy. All of her was striking blue eyes, raven locks, and eyes that flickered from one side of the room to the other as she took in the information she needed without having to be told anything.

All her clues had been mostly irrelevant so far, but this— This could change everything. The bee and barb was one of the biggest speakeasies in his network, she knew, one frequented by people aspiring to join Moriarty’s inner circle. The man himself did not often make public appearances, she knew, and hell, he probably had a more private bar of his own he frequented. He showed up at one of his speakeasies maybe… Once a month? And he had already made an appearance at the Lotus earlier that week, so really, she’d be safe. Or at least she thought so; because her eyes soon landed on a pretty bouquet, set right in front of her chair, and her breath caught in her throat.

It couldn’t be… Could it? Carlie shed her fur coat and placed down her bag as she cautiously walked over to it, frowning in puzzlement.

Orange roses were the first thing she noticed, a symbol of intense desire, of pride, fervour. Then there were peach-toned sweetpeas, that symbolized pleasure, and a flush swept to her cheeks. Who on earth had sent this? A small card tucked away caught her eyes, and she opened it slowly.

_ “Couldn’t make your first performance, doll. Such a shame, would have loved to see you sing for me. Break a leg, bunny— J.M.” _

She dropped the note as if she had been scalded, a gasp rushing out from her lips, her suddenly beating a million times faster. James Moriarty had sent her a note. He had wanted to see her first performance at the Bee and Barb. Suddenly, Charlotte wanted nothing more than to flee all the way back to London. Steeling herself, she stole another glance at the flowers, before the door to her room unceremoniously burst open, startling her.

“Oh, did I scare ya, bunny? Sorry,” Irene Adler didn’t look as if she was sorry at all. The woman was in charge of hiring entertainment for the speakeasy, and word had it that she provided entertainment of more than one sort. It was the second time she was being addressed as bunny. She hated it— It applied to someone lost, disoriented, and she was most definitely not disoriented, and in no need of being patronized. “I was just checking in to see if you had settled in well enough.”

“It’s fine. Thank you, sweets;” Carlie flashed her a pretty smile, and Irene’s eyes flickered across her body. With the hunger on her gaze, Charlotte may as well have been naked. Or prey. Or maybe both. She certainly felt so, anyways, and Irene’s smile turned almost predatorial.

“I’ll leave you to it. And don’t mind those, by the way,” Irene jutted her jaw to the flowers, and Carlie’s head whipped around to look at the bouquet. “He sends those to every girl who makes her debut at one of the big ones. Sweet, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Carlie relaxed against the table. This was fine. He didn’t know who she was, he just thought she was some random girl. And he had just as well admitted to not being there. She had nothing to fear, absolutely nothing. She was no bunny. She would show them all that. She was a wolf, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and wolves would overpower a spider anytime.

“Anyways, I’ll leave ya to it. Performers get free drinks for the night, in case you need something to soothe the nerves. Just go up to the bar and ask for whatever. Toodles, Roxie Hart.” Irene blew her a kiss with a wink, and Carlie felt the familiar clench down… There, as she thought about pursuing something harmless with her. Surely for one night… But no, not now. And not ever, probably, Charlotte thought as she sat down at the mirror and pulled out her makeup bag, beginning to work her magic.

By the end of her transformation, she looked almost unrecognizable. The girl with no makeup and a dove grey dress, a beret and a large coat had transformed into the woman looking at her now, smokey eye, a touch of rouge perfected just so it seemed that she was genuinely blushing, and a striking red lip to match the colour of her dress. It was riské, Carlie knew, red with patterned black accents that evoked the Art Nouveau style. It was fairly loose, giving accent to her figure without revealing too much, and barely showed her cleavage. However, the actual fabric ended several inches above the knee, far more than would have been acceptable anywhere else, and the only things covering the rest of her upper leg were black fringes that ended right above her knee, still showing glimpses of her legs. Black tights and heels completed the outfit, as well as a black headband with a silver decoration that secured her hair up into an illusion of a bob. Two silky gloves were slipped on, and Carlie had to give it to herself, she looked good enough to eat. She just hoped no one would feel hungry that night, lest she find herself in an undesirable predicament.

“Doll,” Irene’s voice behind her makes her startle,  _ again _ . It seems the woman is keen on making a habit out of this, judging by the way she licks her lips at her wide eyes and open mouth. The door is oddly silent when it opens, Charlotte thinks, but maybe it’s just been oiled recently. Other things capture her attention, however, because Irene nearly bares her teeth at her in a grin. “You look good enough to eat. It’s time.” She jerks her head, and Carlie steels herself. She’s got this. Same old act. It’s just going to be a different audience and a bigger stage. She’ll be fine.

They wait behind the curtains, Carlie in nervous silence, Irene eyeing her not so discreetly. Then the curtain raises, her alias is called, and Irene says something that makes her blood freeze as she walks out.

“Don’t disappoint the boss.” The words strike fear in her heart, but she’s a good enough actress to not let it show, even if her heart races in her ribcage like a bird trying to break free. He’s here. He’s here, and he’s going to watch her. She’s going to have to look the most infamous mobster in all of New York city in the ey and pretend she hasn’t been trying to burn his empire down to ash for the past the past six months. 

The lights nearly blind her as she walks out, and there’s several whoops, a lot of wolf-whistling, and more than a few indecent proposals from the audience. She smiles, a languid thing that conceals her real feelings, taking the “compliments” as if it’s her due. As if she views them as compliments at all.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” She speaks in front of the mic, her voice sultry and seductive in her american accent, and that’s when she spots him. He sits right in front of the stage, leaning backwards in his chair, donning a fancy suit. A whiskey cup in his right hand, and she can’t see much of his features, but there’s no need. She can already tell he’s handsome as they come. He raises his glass to her, prompting her to go on in a silent toast, and smiles the devil’s smile when her mouth falls open just so and she looks away.

She doesn’t have to feign it, this time.

“My name is Roxie Hart,” She piped up again, avoiding his gaze at all costs, and grabs the microphone with one hand. “Welcome to the Bee and Barb. Have a pleasant night, ladies and gentlemen.” It’s the cue to for the pianist to begin to play, and the other hand finally grabs the microphone. It almost surprises her, the fact that her heartbeat isn’t being projected throughout the club. And so it begins, a slow, seductive pace to which she moves her hips every so often.

“She paints her fingers with a close precision… He starts to notice empty bottles of gin… And takes a moment to assess the sins she’s paid for…”

* * *

  
  


The rest of the first part of her act goes by smoothly, with Carlie committing the layout of the bar to memory, and ignoring the way his eyes seemed to shift the embers within her and scald her all the same. When she does return to her dressing room for a little break, Irene is there, a satisfied smirk on her face.

“I thought he wouldn’t be here.” Is the first thing out of Carlie’s mouth as she shuts the door behind her, brows furrowed in confusion. Irene’s smirk simply widens as she leans on the vanity.

“His plans got cancelled. The man he had a meeting with showed up late, so he killed him. Made it far easier, and quick, and now he’s enjoying your debut.” The thought of someone being killed just like that, merely for showing up late, makes fear coil low in her gut, and she’s almost sure Irene must be able to smell it, because in a flash she’s up and walking towards her, nearly pinning her against the wall as her head tilts. “Why, kitten?” She purrs, licking her lips, and Carlie does her best not to imagine the things she’d let Irene do to her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the big bad wolf? You might be in the wrong branch if that’s the case.” The tone is a patronizing purr, and she loathes it immediately.

“I’m not. I was just caught by surprise.” Carlie says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest, and Irene steps away, a seemingly satisfied smirk on her lips.

“Good, ‘cause he requested the special dance.” And she thinks the only thing holding her up right now is the sheer will to look as unfazed as possible, otherwise she would have fainted right then and there. When Irene gets no response other than a widening of the eyes, her eyes light up in amusement. “You remember, kitten, the one we practised…?” Her tone insinuated that she better remember, one finger reaching out to hike her skirt up, trailing along her tight, stirring the embers in her further, and Charlotte grits her teeth and bites back a whimper. Did she ever… She had gotten home soaking wet that day. The dance was… Intense, and to have Irene teach her the more so.

“I do remember,” Her voice sounds clipped, and Irene’s finger leaves immediately, but not before trailing down her leg some more. She smiles a wolfish smile, and finally moves towards the door, opening it up and looking over her shoulder.

“Good. As much as I’d love to practice with you again, bunny, I simply don’t have the time right now.” Charlotte’s cheeks flush, a natural tint this time, and she steps as further into the dressing room as she can. “Don’t screw it up, darling. He’s never requested one before, so make sure he remembers it.” The door shuts behind her, and Charlotte groans, burying her face into her palms. She’s going to have to give the big boss a dance,  _ and _ she’s starting to grow wet. Just. Her. Luck.

* * *

As it turns out, he’s even more attractive up close. Carlie is really wishing for the ground to swallow her whole right now, but she shoulders on, just as she knew any of her siblings would.

It started out with her on the stage, a persistent piano rhythm she swings her hips to, and Charlotte feels the whiskey from the glass she downed earlier to soothe her nerves still on her tongue as she begins to sing.

“Come on babe, why don’t we paint the town…” Two beats, and she swings lower, eyes fixed directly on him as Irene instructed. “And all that Jazz… I’m gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down…” Her fingers crawl down her legs as if to reach for the hem of her dress, and one of his eyebrows quirks up. “And all that Jazz… Start the car, I know a whoopee spot,” Her hips thrust to the side at that as she lands her hands on them, and there’s a whooping noise from the audience. “Where the gin is cold, but the piano’s hot! It’s just a noisy hall, where there’s a nightly brawl, and all,” She goes down a step from the stage, “That,” Another step, “Jazz…” She finally reaches the ground, and she’s further from him now, the steps leading away from his central position. He shifts in his seat, and she briefly wonders if he’s truly that impatient for her, but regains her focus quickly.

“Slick your hair and wear your buckle shoes,” She runs her hand through one of the costumer's’ hair, and he kisses the inside of the wrist, which makes her grant him a soft smile. “I hear that father Dip is gonna blue the blues…” The song went on and on, Charlotte having practised it so often she knew it by heart, knew when to swing her hips, to wink at the costumer, and to do it all in full view of the man who had requested it, all the while drawing closer to him.

And then finally, she came to stand in front of him, and his eyes took every inch of her body in, flickering and jumping from her eyes to her mouth, hair, legs, in an eerily familiar way. She shook off the feeling because if she didn’t, she was certain she’d stutter and fail. But he was impossibly handsome, truly, with deep brown eyes, a Grecian nose and thin eyebrows, a five o’clock shade dotting his face, the same tone of his dark hair that had been slicked back.

“Come on babe, we’re gonna brush the sky,” She ran a hand through it as practised, leaning forward, and he tilted his head back, and  _ actually hums _ with his eyes closed, “I betcha lucky Lindy never flew so high!” And then her hand slide to his tie, grasping it and pulling him to her all the while loosening the knot, and his eyes flashed darker. “Cause in the stratosphere, how could he lend an ear to all…” She let go abruptly, him falling back onto the chair. “That.” She bit the tip glove and yanked, it falling from her grasp onto his lap. “Jazz…” She moved then, swiftly turning to stand behind the chair.

“Oh, you're gonna see your Sheba shimmy shake,” One of her hands, her bare one, rested on his shoulder only to trail down his chest, the other coming up to trace the corner of his lips, and then he surprised her by mimicking her earlier action, biting on the tip of her glove to pull it away, “And all that Jazz,” And out went the rest of the glove. “Oh, she’s gonna shimmy till her garters break,” And he pulled her hand down to press an open-mouthed kiss to her pulse point, a motion that made her heart stutter, “And all that Jazz,”

She walked around to face him now, and she stood in front of him, legs open on either side of his chair as she stood, “Show her where the park her girdle,” She swung her hips down, and his eyes flashed dark, him licking his lips at her, “Oh, her mother’s blood will curdle,” And this was the part where she straddled him, but he was faster. His hands were on her hips in a flash, and she was being pulled down to straddle his lap, suddenly very, very aware of the effect she had had on him. Said effect seemed to poke into her tights in the form of an erection, and her mouth fell open. His eyes glinted in an almost predatory manner, pleased to have caught her by surprise, and she was reminded to regain her composure quickly. “If she’d hear her baby’s queer,” She nearly murmured in his ear, and he took the opportunity to reach up and pull the band from her hair, letting her hair loose to frame her face. “For all,” She murmured, lips grazing his ear, and his grip on her hips tightened. “That…” She pulled back, tossing her hair to the side to reveal the creamy expanse of her neck, and he seemed utterly entranced by that, “Jazz,” He licked his lips and his hips bucked up into hers, his tented erection brushing her core through her underwear, and Carlie was unable to suppress the gasp that flew past her lips. He gripped her hips harder as the chorus girls sang the next line, and then… Then it was time for the big finale, she knew.

  
  


“Come on, babe, why don't we paint the town?” He ground up to her, and it was increasingly difficult to focus. “ And all that jazz,” His hands moved down from her hips. “I’m gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down,” His hands slowly slide to the hem of her skirt, and he plays with it without lifting it, “And all that Jazz,” His eyes meet hers in a silent question, and she doesn’t know what possesses her to nod. “Start a car, I know a whoopee spot,” His hands slowly slide under her skirt to rest on her tights, where his thumbs rub slow circles, and it occurs to her that she  _ does _ know a whoopee spot, and he does too, his hands inching dangerously close to the hem of her panties. “Where the gin is cold, but the piano's hot,” He watches her closely as his thumb grazes the hem of them, and her mouth parts just so in surprise, “It's just a noisy hall where there's a nightly brawl,” This time it’s her turn to grind down on him, see just how much  _ he _ likes being teased in public, only judging by the shameless growl that flies past his lips and send a zing of pleasure straight to her core, he does like it, and very much. “And all… That… Jazz…” She pushes up then, and nearly snickers at how bereft he looks, the tent in his pants rises. He moves to try to pull her back again, but she moved faster, spinning once to lean on a nearby table, maybe half a metre away from him.

“No, I’m no one’s wife,” She arches her back and tilts her head back. “But oh, I love my life!” One of her legs reaches to kick up, offering him a tempting glimpse of her tights, and his eyes darken definitely. “And all, that, Jazz!” The note holds as her leg slowly crawls down, and the second he moves to presumably lunge forward, she places a foot on the seat, right between his legs, and breathes the final words with an air of finality. “That Jazz.” The club erupts into applause and his hand slowly grabs her ankle, caressing it as they lock eyes, and she can see the moment something within him shifts, and he removes his hand from her foot, so she removes it as well. He stands abruptly, straightens his suit, looks at her with resolve, and leaves. 

Her smirk only grows when she realizes she has the famed Jim Moriarty on the run. 

* * *

Not long after, her act is finished. She’s committed the layout of the club to memory, memorized quite a few faces, caught a few names, and in general, is feeling pretty good about herself. It helps that Irene had praised her, in a very Irene like manner, but it was praise from Irene nonetheless, who comments that his abrupt departure must have been to take care of himself, as she puts it, and points out she could see his erection from the bar. 

The fact that she had such an effect on the famed mafia boss does wonders for her ego, even if there is an aching wetness between her legs she can’t ignore. Later, she thinks to herself, as she packs up her things, still in her dress and makeup, hair still down. She’s so absorbed in her own thoughts she doesn’t even notice as the door swings open, doesn’t see a figure move behind her in the mirror, doesn’t even know someone’s there until she feels the cold press of the barrel of a gun to the small of her back, and gasps loudly. 

She can say with some pride that she’s not afraid of much, but as her eyes fly up to look in the mirror and meet Jim Moriarty’s soulless ones… Well, that would strike fear in the heart of God himself. And for some reason, her eyes land on the bouquet, and stupidly enough, she realizes she missed the two other flowers and its meaning completely. Snapdragons for deception, and Rhododendron for beware.  _ He knows _ , she realizes with a start, and gasps quietly, which seems to amuse him.

“Well, well, well…” He muses, and if she weren’t frozen in terror, she’d have rolled her eyes at how hopelessly cliché  _ that _ was. “Pleased to finally meet ya, Roxie.” His accent, god he has an Irish accent and the sweetest voice. She didn’t think he could get more attractive, and yet there he is, pressing a gun to her back, and she’s melting because of his voice. Slowly, he slides it up her arm, the cold metal making her shoulder. “Or should I even call you that?” His free hand moves to place something in front of her, a bottle of a liquid she recognizes as chloroform, and a rag. Her eyes widen, then meet his in the mirror again. “Well, no need to look so scared, poor little bunny. I’m not gonna hurt you. Not by my standards, anyways” He smiles the devil’s smile and the gun moves up to under her chin, and all Carlie can think of is how the nickname she loathed, spoken in that soft-voiced, made her go weak at the knees. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, Charlotte?”

It’s as if her heart drops right then, and he must know, because he stares at her with a wicked smile, and steps forward, fully pressing himself to her. She can still feel  _ him _ , and the first foolish thought that passes her is that he didn’t go take care of himself. His free hand moves to grab her hip, then crawls forward to rest on her lower belly, slowly rubbing in circles that shouldn’t be as maddening as they are.

  
  
“Nothing?” He pouts, and she’s frozen in place. “Well, let’s see if I can make you remember how to use your voice,” He mumbles, the gun tipping her head backwards, exposing her neck, and then his lips are on it and she closes her eyes, heart beating, the ache between her legs growing, and then he bites, hard enough to leave a bruise, and her hand fly down to his.

“ _ Oh! _ ” She exclaims, and then he begins to suckle, lick, nip and kiss at the sensitive skin, and she’s squirming in his grip. When he pulls away, his grin is almost an arrogant one, and there’s an ugly red bruise forming on her neck.

“There, darling. Now was that so hard?” He murmurs against her ear, lips grazing the shell of it, and she shudders, eyes closing. She’s terrified and entranced all the same, the lust she feels clouding her judgement. And that’s when she realizes that crap, he’s probably doing this on purpose, otherwise, he would have killed her or put her sleep. Her eyes fly open to meet his, and he seems to realize that she realized, because his hand returns to her hip and suddenly the grip is hard enough to make her whine audibly.

“How did you know?” She asks, voice breaking, and he just grins manically.

“I have my way, darling. I suspected you weren’t what you said you were the moment we ran a background check and only fake certificates came up. Very good forgeries, I’ll give you and your brothers that, but forgeries nevertheless. And then Irene told me you never really hung out with any of the other girls outside of work, and I started getting suspicious. But you were gaining so much popularity I just had to see for myself. I knew you were a spy from the moment I saw your eyes flickering across the room, trying to take in every bit of information. Clever minx, you,” He murmurs against her skin, eyes blazing, and she shudders. 

“Distracting enough that all I could focus was how good you’d look dancing for me, I couldn’t put my finger on why you were so familiar. I didn’t until you looked at me at the end of your dance. I’ve only ever seen one smirk like that in my life. Then it was just a matter of checking to see if Mycroft and Sherlock were in their office, which they were, probably waiting anxiously for their baby sister to return, and break into their house to look for evidence.  _ Your _ house too, apparently. You can just imagine how upset I was that Sherlock was hiding a sister from me, especially one so gorgeous” He murmurs, and his grip on her hip loosens as he starts to slowly caress it. She twitches, hips bucking involuntarily, and his response is to smirk, the absolute prick. 

“You’re much alike, you and Sherlock, although you’re the most attractive, by far.” He plants an open-mouthed kiss on her neck and sighs. “I’m afraid I will still have to ask you one more thing.” He murmurs, and next thing she knows the gun is nuzzling her temple, and Carlie whimpers audibly.

“Tell your brothers that the next time they send a spy to me, I won’t hesitate to decorate my floor with their brains, understood?” She nods, eyes squeezed shut, and he seems to relax a little at that. “No matter how pretty they are. I’ll kill the spy first, and then I’ll hunt you down and do it to you too, for having the audacity to be the first and leave me in such a state, nonetheless.”

“You’re free to go, as long as you stay out of trouble and learn your place. Oh, and stay away from Irene Adler. She’d enjoy breaking a pretty little thing like you far too much. But you have too much fire in you, you must have to have come here.” He pulls the gun away from her, grabs the chloroform and the rag, and finally, finally moves away. She feels as if she’s able to breathe properly again.

“So if there’s anyone who’s going to break you at some point, it will be me. Mark my words, Charlotte Holmes.” His eyes flash dark as he licks his lips slowly, eyes fixed on hers through the mirror. “Because I’m laying claim to your pretty little body, and your innocence. Ciao, Bella.” And with that, he leaves. 

She’s not there for a second longer than necessary, grabbing her things and her money because she’s not stupid, she knows she needs to pay a cab, and exits into the street. Those who see her on her way out say nothing to her, but don’t bother hiding their surprise either. Clearly, they’re not used to people who displease the boss living to tell the tale  _ and _ getting a hickey for a souvenir, but she pays no mind to the looks they shoot her, exiting through the stage door and stopping in her tracks. She doesn’t like how dark it is at night, but the street, well lit and with people who will come to help her, is only a few feet away. All she has to do is walk through this alley. There are four side alleys, two on her right, two on her left, all of them right across from each other, and Carlie figures, in her desperation to get to the safety of her home she’ll just breeze past them and it will be fine.

She picks up her pace, heart racing in her chest, and she thinks she’s safe when nothing happens, but then someone stalks out of the shadow on the alleyway just in front of her, to her right. Her head whips around, and she’s staring right at a man holding a gun, pointed right at her. Her first instinct is to bolt towards the street, _ moving targets are harder to hit _ , but two other figures are emerging from the two other alleyways further down, both of them also holding guns.

Her head whips around, frantically looking for an exit— No armed man coming from the alleyway to her left, and since she can’t exactly go back to the speakeasy, it seems as if that is her only choice. In a flash, she drops her things and runs straight into that direction, the darkness enveloping her completely, not thinking about where she is going, not thinking that this seemed far too coordinated to be a random attack. 

She doesn’t get far before running straight into a strong chest. Carlie wafts the scent of a familiar perfume, and realizes who it is just as the Jim Moriarty’s hands wrap themselves around her arms. 

“Sorry bunny, but I’m so changeable.” He grins down at her, and panic kicks in, Carlie trashing in his grip, him watching unperturbed even as she claws at his arms.

“No, no, no!” She cries, struggling valiantly, and his brow twitches in annoyance. “Let me go! Please! Don’t hurt me!”

“Darling, I won’t hurt you. Much. Not unless you stay quiet, anyways.” His grip on her arm tightens enough to bruise and tears spring to her eyes. “To be honest, it is a flaw of mine. But it is also my only one. You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t.”

A sob rips from her body at that, and she pushes him hard enough that his grip loosens and he stumbles. Carlie takes the opportunity to try and run from him, but he’s fast, seizing her wrist in a bruising grip and pulling her towards him.

“Help!” She cries, tears now freely streaming down her cheeks, and he tugs a little harder at that.

“Charlotte, be quiet.” He hisses this time, and she doesn’t care, doesn’t care if she’s pushing it, as she opens her mouth to scream for help again, panic completely taking over her system.

“I’m being kidnapped, help!” And then there’s a searing pain as he brings the back of his gun against her head, and she crumbles to the floor with a final helpless cry, conscious enough that she’s aware of him stepping towards her and helping her up, even through her blurry sight. He ducks into shadow, taking her with him, and presses her back to his front, one hand pulling her waist securely to him, pinning her arms to her sides. The pain is too much for her to do anything except whimper quietly.

“You should have just done as I said, pet.” He says and struggles to reach something deep in his pockets. “This is really not how I envisioned your first time whimpering in my arms would go.”He murmurs against her ear, and the more conscious part of Carlie’s brain wants to claw his eyes out for having the audacity to crack a joke at a time like this, but just settles for growling slightly in his arms. He chuckles a little at that, aware that she’s unable to do anything but that, and suddenly there’s the press of cloth with a familiar smell to her mouth and nose, and her eyes widen. As it turns out, he  _ did _ have a use for the chloroform, she thinks stupidly.

“Now breath in, bunny,” He commands, and she does exactly the opposite, holding her breath. She’d much rather faint for the lack of oxygen and wake up a couple of minutes later than be drugged with chloroform and stay unconscious for hours, but it seems as if he has other plans. “Bunny, breath in, or I’ll make you,” He growls in her ear, and that shouldn’t send the zing of desire straight to her core, but it does, even as she shakes her head wildly, unable to speak, eyes wide as her vision clears. 

“Guess I’ll just have to make you, then.” He whispers, and the hand that was on her waist moves down without warning to cup her sex over her dress and  _ rub _ , and she gasps, inhaling by accident. “Good girl,” He praises, and rubs again, and  _ again _ she gasps. He keeps rubbing, and Charlotte can’t stop gasping and taking deep breaths, not when he’s doing this, and soon her sight becomes blurry again.

“James…” She murmurs, too weak to resist the natural urge to breathe, and his hand moves up again to support her at the waist. She barely realizes she used his first name as she feels her limbs become heavier, her eyelids slowly slipping shut.

“Hush, now, bunny. Daddy will take care of you,” He murmurs in her ear, and she feels her knees give in beneath her as her eyes roll to the back of her head. He catches her in a flash, pulling her up in his arms bridal style, and the last thing she remembers is allowing her head to loll against his chest because he’s so warm, and she dropped her coat back in her frenzied escape, and the night air is  _ so cold _ … He walks her back to the alley, and before she knows it, darkness overtakes her, and Carlie falls asleep with a shudder of fear of what will await her when she wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> [A good reference for her dress would be the one on the right.](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcRZGvBvqmPrzo8a7UN1cf5mK7sEsqyg59gSAhk7KZtAmsex0np1)
> 
> [The song she first sings.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w51TfBMLXJA&list=PLJZH8sevmMq4kBcfUJmmkXVJ0jX-bS8Nw&index=8)
> 
> [The second song she sings.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcGsGfvVrWo)
> 
> [Always pictured Kaya Scodelario as Carlie Holmes!](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/69/92/aa/6992aa0c8b7a06f1381eff37ce3dd36b.jpg)


End file.
